


Perhaps not in Entirety

by StarsInMyDamnEyes



Series: Witcher!Jaskier Oneshots [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Gen, Geralt apologises, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Identity Reveal, If you assumed that this isn’t, Jaskier is a little shit, Jaskier is banned from many places, No Post-Mountain Geralt Vilification, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, conveniently shitty glamours, fuck i love fight scenes, geralt is surprisingly good at guessing, how to save someone from a forktail: kick them in the stomach as hard as you possibly can, i would use the actual tag but you’re all Americans and i don’t really go in for that spelling, mentions of Ciri, no beta we burn like Cintra, superfluous fight scenes, you were wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:08:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24044902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsInMyDamnEyes/pseuds/StarsInMyDamnEyes
Summary: He dodged stray branches and tangled shrubs with an almost unconscious ease, speed only increasing when the coppery tang of blood on his nose, and fuck, that was strong, that was a lot of blood - the fight had either gone overwhelmingly well or unthinkably terribly for the mystery witcher, and, judging by the constant buzzing of the medallion hidden in the sole of his boot, it wasn't looking too good - and Jaskier made it to the clearing where the smell originated from in record time.The first thing he realised was that the reason that the scent of blood was so strong was because both the witcher and the fuckingforktailhe was fighting were bleeding most admirably, though neither were quite dead yet.The second thing Jaskier realised - and it probably should have been the first, in actuality - was that the witcher was not, in fact, a Griffin.No, it was, because of bloody course it bloody was, Geralt of fucking Rivia.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher!Jaskier Oneshots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735543
Comments: 48
Kudos: 791





	Perhaps not in Entirety

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brothebro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brothebro/gifts).



> Hi! This was a witcher!Jaskier prompt left for me by @brothebro on tumblr (who is an amazing and wonderful person who writes all the best fic and is incredibly patient with my endless babbling about various witcher!jaskier things)
> 
> Enjoy!! :)

There was nothing inherently special about the town, of course there wasn't - one backwater village was indistinguishable from another, as a general rule. The only thing that might have been of note, insofar as the plentiful little shitholes that littered the continent went, was that Jaskier was not allowed to return to some of them.

It had been difficult enough, come to think of it, to keep track of which unwelcoming cesspit he was allowed to enter when he'd only had one list of them, and now, he had two - one for Jaskier the Bard, and one for Julian the Decidedly Not a Bard, but in Fact Most Certainly a Witcher.

This specific town, Jaskier was sure, figured on one of his lists, and he was also sure that it was the Julian one. While he'd never been as far north as Poviss as a bard, excluding that one occasion with the utter cock-up of a dragon hunt and also this current moment - mainly because he hadn't actually left afterwards - he had, in fact, frequented the area when he was younger and particularly more... stabby.

Alright, sue him, he was avoiding his problems like there was no tomorrow. Geralt, Jaskier knew, mainly frequented Kaedwen, Temeria, Aedirn, and perhaps occasionally Redania. Consequently, Jaskier had stuck mainly to Kovir and Poviss since the hunt.

As a witcher, however, it was a vastly different story. Jaskier had trained in Kovir, and, suffice to say, he hadn't been as fond of travelling in his youth as he was now. It made things infinitely easier to keep track of, anyways - if it was in Kovir or Poviss, perhaps Kaedwen or northern Redania, he was banned as a witcher. Further south, he was banned as a bard, and in one little hovel by the banks of the Gwenllech, he was banned as both.

The point was, he was fairly certain he wouldn't be thrown out on his arse if he walked into this town as he was.

And wasn't that all the incentive that he needed?

Jaskier, with his glamour firmly in place - ring jammed nigh-immovably on his finger, as always - and his lute on his back, ambled into the town with a casual air.

At first, there had been nothing of significance, nothing particularly stand-out about... Well, anything, really. He went to the tavern, played for coin, had a drink or two, and, come the afternoon - a bit earlier than he would ususually turn in, but he figured he deserved a break - he started off towards the inn to book a room for the night.

The tavern was, in a most inconvenient manner, a fair few streets from the inn, and so Jaskier found himself weaving through the town anyways - he was definitely banned here as Julian, though he had absolutely no idea why - trying to locate the desired building.

That, then, was when he heard it, a muted discussion between two passing residents that the absent-minded bard wouldn't even have been aware of, had it not been for the benefit of his excellent hearing.

The conversation, Jaskier would have liked to say, was one that piqued his interest, but it was a little known fact that Jaskier was an avid eavesdropper who never tuned anything out - his interest was very easily piqued. As such, the decleration remained rather ineffectual, but that didn't really change _anything_ , here.

_"...never returned from that contract, did he? Thank the gods we never paid him upfront, eh?"_

_"Shove it, mate. Maybe you get to keep your coin, yeah, but that fucking creature's still out there, innit? They're gonna be asking for triple when they hear there's already been a witcher who ain't managed to kill it, mark my words."_

At this, Jaskier would admit that a chill ran down his spine. This was Poviss, and so the nearest school was - or rather, _had been_ , Jaskier mentally corrected himself with a note of bitterness welling in his heart - the School of the Griffin. Jaskier's school.

It stood to reason that the missing witcher was one of Jaskier's brothers, and gods damn it, even if he hadn't been around for the attack on Kaer Seren, traipsing around after Geralt as he was, he would be damned if he turned a blind eye to this witcher's suffering, especially given that Griffins - which this witcher quite possibly was - had become quite the rare breed, recently.

So, he did the only logical, rational thing he could think of.

Unarmed save for the dagger he kept in his boot, lute strapped to his back, and acutely aware that if anyone were to recognise him as Julian of Kerack...as _himself_ , really, he would immediately be shooed from the village and quite possibly also chased by a mob for his troubles - all of these unfavourable circumstances forgotten, he chased after the two men, still discussing the witcher.

"Excuse me," Jaskier called pleasantly, jogging up to the men, projecting his very best _I'm a very non-threatening but curious bard, hello_ air for the occasion. "I couldn't help but notice that you were talking about a witcher, a contract?"

One of the men, a balding, middle-aged individual, spat on the ground. "What's it to you, bard?"

"Just.. idle curiosity, I suppose," Jaskier shrugged. "I was wondering if you could point me in the direction he went?"

The balding man scowled, but his companion - a man who had the most magnificent beard that Jaskier had ever seen, was forthcoming with an answer. "He went into the woods down that very road. Been gone almost a day now, I think."

"Many thanks, gentlemen."

With an exaggerated bow, Jaskier immediately turned tail and left.

He fell easily into a run, not breaking into a sweat even as he left the town and started speeding through the undergrowth of a forest.

Evidently, his refusal to waste coin on a horse had in fact saved his stamina.

He picked up on a familiar scent soon enough, though he couldn't place it - he'd never been good with smells, it was something of a major failing of his, really - but it definitely smelled like _witcher_.

So he followed it.

He dodged stray branches and tangled shrubs with an almost unconscious ease, speed only increasing when the coppery tang of blood on his nose, and fuck, that was strong, that was a lot of blood - the fight had either gone overwhelmingly well or unthinkably terribly for the mystery witcher, and, judging by the constant buzzing of the medallion hidden in the sole of his boot, it wasn't looking too good - and Jaskier made it to the clearing where the smell originated from in record time.

The first thing he realised was that the reason that the scent of blood was so strong was because both the witcher and the fucking _forktail_ he was fighting were bleeding most admirably, though neither were quite dead yet.

The second thing Jaskier realised - and it probably should have been the first, in actuality - was that the witcher was not, in fact, a Griffin.

No, it was, because of bloody _course_ it bloody was, Geralt of fucking Rivia.

The third thing he noticed was that Geralt was losing.

Badly.

It had been a battle of endurance, it seemed, and Jaskier could see that Geralt was on the verge of passing out.

Fuck. For all the man had hurt him, Jaskier had absolutely no wish to see him dead. Quite the opposite, actually - he would risk his own life to see him safe.

So, slamming his lute case down on the forest floor and leaping into the clearing with all the strength the possessed, that was _exactly_ what he did.

Perhaps his method was a bit... callous, but he needed to arm himself and get Geralt out of the forktail's path, and this was the fastest way he knew how to do that.

He slipped under Geralt's guard, grabbed his arm, and twisted his silver sword neatly from his grip, delivering a ferocious kick to the man that sent him flying across the clearing, far, far away from the forktail's reach.

It was maybe not the best way to minimise injury, delivering a forceful blow to the stomach of an already wounded man, but it was efficient, and besides, Geralt was a witcher. He'd be fine. Probably.

Rounding on the forktail with Geralt's unfamiliar sword, he didn't stop to deliberate. He fell back into the familiarity of the fight with an almost disturbing ease, and leapt at the forktail, already slashing.

He caught the creature across the neck, slicing a gash far too shallow for his liking, and ducked under the is belly, tearing another wound in its flesh, before slipping behind it and striking at its tail with all his strength, aiming to sever it.

Geralt's blade cut deep into the forktail's muscle, not quite a clean amputation, but Jaskier struck a second blow that rent it from the creature's body with efficiency.

The creature gave a roar of agony, and Jaskier took the opportunity to leap on its back and drive the sword straight through the forktail's throat.

It thrashed a few times before falling, and Jaskier pulled the blade neatly from the forktail's throat, rolling out of harms way as they both dropped to the ground.

"Well," Jaskier said, surprisingly not breathless. "That went well."

 _Geralt_. He still had to tend to Geralt's wounds from the forktail, given that he'd spent the gods only knew how long wearing it down for him, which Jaskier was thankful for. He probably would have lost rather terribly, come to think of it, had the forktail not already been in such poor shape, wings torn, bleeding from multiple wounds.

He turned to focus on where Geralt lay - where Jaskier had kicked him to - and found yellow eyes surveying him intently.

Well, shit.

"I can explain," he said, trying not to seem too visibly nervous as he spied Roach, at the edge of the clearing, and made his way over to her to nab some of Geralt's supplies.

"Since when?"

The growling voice was tinged with an undertone of pain. Jaskier winced.

"Since when, what? You'll have to be a tad bit more specific, I'm afraid," Jaskier said, instead, making his way over to the White Wolf. "Here, where are you hurt?"

"Everywhere," Geralt grunted. "Since when can you-" a pause, a pained pause- "can you take on a forktail?"

Jaskier shrugged, focusing on removing Geralt's armour to tend to his wounds. "Since some point between when I was born and now, I suppose."

"That's not an answer."

"Oh, so now you're entitled to know all of my personal information? After how we parted?"

Geralt gave a grunt that might have been a whine, if Jaskier felt like reading a bit too much into it.

The bard scoffed, old hurt welling up in his chest. A crawling discomfort made its way across his skin, and he shivered. "And there it is, your famous monosyllabism. If you want anything from me, you're going to have to use your big boy words. Can you do that Geralt, or is it beyond you?"

"You... kicked me. Across a clearing. Stole my sword. Beat a forktail."

"Yes, well." Jaskier's deft hands had removed Geralt's armour by that point, and he could see the many, slowly-healing gashes that littered the man's torso. Death by a thousand cuts, indeed. "You softened it up a lot, first. I'm not exactly in the whole... Well. The whole monster-fighting business."

"Jaskier."

"Don't you _Jaskier_ me," the bard groused, uncorking a potion bottle. "You owe me an apology, you know. Several apologies. And then, I _might_ consider telling you all of my deep dark secrets. I'm not in the business of baring my soul to people who I... Oh, how did you so eloquently put it? Whenever you find yourself in a pile of shit, it's always me, shovelling it."

If Geralt winced, it was definitely because of Jaskier's treating of his cuts. It wouldn't do for him to go and fool himseld into believing that the man had finally grown a heart, after all. Nothing good ever came from that kind of assumption.

The crawling feeling intensified.

"I... I was wrong," Geralt ground out. "It's not you shovelling shit. The djinn and Ciri... were my decisions. You were just there."

"And do you mean that, or are you just trying to butter me up so that I'll satisfy your curiosity?"

"Jaskier. I'm sorry. You saved my life."

"I did," Jaskier mused. "And now I'm going to stick my finger into your open wound, painfully, because you're a massive dick."

Geralt didn't manage to hide his flinch, but Jaskier could see that he was steeling himself for Jaskier to actually go through with it.

"I'm kidding, Geralt. I don't take pleasure in hurting you. Much."

"Hmm."

"I'm going to give you stitches now."

"Jaskier. I really am sorry."

Raising an eyebrow, the bard decided to put the man out of his misery. "I know. You don't say things lightly, I'm just fucking with you, Geralt."

The needle pierced through Geralt's skin swiftly, in a practiced movement - the type of movement that came from years and years of repetition.

"Ciri."

"Ciri?" Jaskier queried, not looking up. "Your child surprise? What about her?"

"She's. At the inn."

"Ah. Well, you should let me stitch you up, then, and you can get back to her. I'll be out of your hair shortly."

"I want you to meet her."

"Really?" Jaskier rocked back on his heels as he pulled on the thread of the stitch - an unwise movement, but the bard didn't fuck anything up.

No, he was just screwing with Geralt, a little bit.

"Please."

"Ah, so you do know what manners are. Of course I'll meet with her, how could I refuse an audience with the Lion Cub of Cintra?"

Finishing the last of the stitches and moving onto the next particularly deep wound, Jaskier met Geralt's eyes and grinned.

"I'll only stitch the more life-threatening ones, now, don't worry. The rest, we can deal with back at the inn."

"We?"

Jaskier raised an eyebrow. "Yes, _we_. You can't just inquire after my dark and sordid past and not expect me to start clinging to you like a barnacle again, now, Geralt. Who knows? If you're nice enough to me, I'll even tell you."

Geralt's mouth twitched - just the barest hints of a smile. "Your singing is beautiful, and your eyes are divine."

Jaskier fluttered his lashes. "Why, thank you, Geralt, but they're not exactly- oh, _fuck_."

The white-haired witcher tried to sit up, on hearing the note of panic in Jaskier's voice, but the bard laid a hand on his shoulder.

"What is it?"

He followed Jaskier's eyes, his gaze landing on Jaskier's ring - Jaskier's ring, which was sporting a large, gaping crack.

So that was what the crawling feeling was.

"A glamour."

"Yes," Jaskier said, flatly. "One that seemingly has given up the ghost... Or is about to, and any rate.”

"You're wearing a glamour?"

"Yes, Geralt, keep up," Jaskier said, tone light. "Completely unrelated, I am unfortunately unable to return to town with you, so I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to close your eyes while I finish your stitches, and-"

"What are you?"

Jaskier exhaled. "I'm sure you'll find out in a minute or so. I don't exactly carry a spare."

"Jaskier-"

Geralt's tone was soft, but Jaskier waved his concerns away. "Oh, don't worry, it's nothing you'd have to kill me over."

The bard focused on stitching Geralt's wounds as the glamour began to flinch, and, as the ring finally dulled, dissipated completely.

The change wasn't significant, by any stretch of the word - Jaskier was still Jaskier, the same face, the same body - but old scars began to resurface, patterned across the bard's skin, and the eyes that met Geralt's when he looked up were no longer blue, but slit-pupilled and yellow.

"Witcher," Geralt breathed. "You're a witcher. And... You have been. All this time."

Jaskier huffed. "I'm honestly surprised that wasn't your first guess."

"What school?"

"Oh, come now, I have to keep some secrets for myself," Jaskier grinned, flashing fangs he'd honestly forgotten he had.

"Griffin."

"Oh, for the love of- _how_? How did you guess that?"

Geralt shrugged. "You act like a Griffin."

"I act like a-" Jaskier mouthed. "You brute! Take that back!"

The White Wolf smiled at him - actually _smiled_ at him, after twenty damn _years_ , and it was all to be a little _shit_ \- and patted the bard’s arm awkwardly. "Don't fret, Jaskier. I understand why you'd want to keep it a secret. It would be embarrassing for the Griffin School to admit that they produced someone as incompetent as you."

Outraged, Jaskier gasped in betrayal. "Well, I'm sure I won't be helping you next time you're in mortal danger, Geralt! I broke my glamour for your sake! Quite by accident, I'll admit, but still!"

Geralt - gods damn him - _smirked_.

"In all seriousness, Geralt," Jaskier groaned. "Do you know how many towns in Poviss have banned Julian of Kerack from entering?"

"Is it most of them?"

"It's most of them, yeah. I was - ah, I was rather _stabby_ in my youth."

Geralt shrugged. "The people who could recognise you are all dead by now."

"Hah! You'd think," Jaskier grinned. "Our school was in operation for far longer than yours, you know. I'm not actually that much older than I claimed. I just took off the six years I spent actually working as a witcher, when I gave it."

"You gave up after six years?"

"I had other callings!"

"No, I'm just surprised you lasted that long in the first place."

"Oh, fuck off- Next time, I am leaving you to die, Geralt of Rivia!"

"You wouldn't. _Julian_."

"Shut up. Just- get your Child Surprise and let's go to a country I'm actually welcome in. I don't need to stay in Poviss now that I'm not avoiding you any- fuck."

"Is _that_ why you're here, Jaskier?"

Geralt of Rivia's grin was shit-eating as he no doubt resolved to tease Jaskier about that for the next decade or so, and Jaskier couldn't help but think, as he finished Geralt's last stitch with hands that had become so unfamiliar to him over the last two decades, that being able to stay by the man's side again was absolutely worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m @stars-in-my-damn-eyes on tumblr
> 
> Talk to me about the Witcher
> 
> Leave a prompt in my inbox (I’ll get round to it eventually :D)


End file.
